


Less Of Who I've Ever Been

by Lion_owl



Series: Enterprise: series 5 [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, More tags to be added, Mystery, Season/Series 04, TATV never happened, Work In Progress, and in this fic they are unequivocally nothing more, for the record - shran and jhamel are friends, there are things i can't tag because of spoilers, twice that happens to them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lion_owl/pseuds/Lion_owl
Summary: I'm getting more of what I've always wantedBut becoming less of who I've ever beenShran finds out the truth of his dismissal from the imperial guard — and is given a difficult decision to make





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My head is in a slightly prolific archer/shran phase at the moment. This takes place late series 4, and is the first instalment in (partially the setup for) my hypothetical series 5. title taken from the song "dial tones" by /\\\\\, but the two lines in the summary are literally the only two from the entire song that actually reminds me of this fic, but they were too good to pass up on.

“There’s a ship approaching.” T’Pol said, pressing several buttons on her console. “I don’t recognise the configuration.”

“They’re hailing,” Hoshi added. Archer nodded, and she transferred their image to the viewscreen.

“Captain Archer,” said the alien on the screen, not from a species Enterprise had ever encountered, their voice gruff and guttural.

“Do I know you?” He asked, not liking being at a disadvantage.

“No.” The other was silent, and for a moment he wondered if they were going to expand on that… “but you know our passenger. Let us transfer him to your ship so we can be on our way. He’s taken up enough of our time.”

Friendly. He exchanged a glance with Hoshi.

“You expect to just dump your passenger on us without telling us anything about him?” He asked.

He turned his face to the side, barking an order in another language.

“Bring him,” Hoshi translated. “Unusual dialect.”

They waited a moment, before a figure was pushed into view, slightly hunched, looking bruised and worn down, clothes ripped. Archer straightened up, a nervous knot forming in his stomach that he tried not to let show on his face.

“Shran,” he said, keeping his voice bland. “It’s been a while.” Shran looked up at him and smiled sadly.

“Enough. You can reunite when we’re not running late for a trade deal,” the other alien barked. “Lock transporters on the Andorian and beam him to their ship.”

A moment later, Shran disappeared from the image and materialised beside Archer on the bridge, stumbling slightly and holding onto a console for support. Before he could say anything, the channel was cut and T’Pol indicated the other vessel was warping away.

Archer wanted to throw his arms around his old friend and hold him tight, but he held himself back, instead asking what had happened for Shran to end up here.

“It’s a long story,” was all Shran said.

“Are you going to talk about it?” Archer asked, but Shran kept his mouth shut. “Fine,” Archer continued, looping his arm under Shran to help him walk. “Let’s get you to sickbay.” Shran didn’t protest, and if he leaned close to Archer when they got into the turbolift, well – well Archer noticed very much, and he gulped.

“Is he going to be alright, Doctor?” Archer asked, pacing nervously around sickbay, where Shran lay unconscious on a biobed.

“He’s fine,” Phlox said, “he just needs some time to recover. Please calm down.”

“I’m perfectly calm!” Archer realised somewhat belatedly that he’d raised his voice.

“You’re worried about him.” It wasn’t a question. “And that’s perfectly understandable, but you’re getting in the way,” Phlox admonished.

“Sorry,” Archer stepped back. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. It’s mostly flesh wounds, I don’t know how he got them. I’ll keep him in for observation for tonight.”

“Notify me if there’s any change.” He left sickbay, his stomach doing somersaults. He was fed up of this. Whenever they were apart he wondered at least once a day where Shran was, what he was doing, and whenever they were together he got anxiety and a whole load of butterflies, and whenever Shran was injured…

It had only been a few months since they’d last seen each other, nothing compared to the almost entire year they’d barely even spoken while Enterprise was in the Delphic Expanse, but since returning from that mission he’d gotten used to them seeing each other much more often.

He was loathe to admit, he’d been worried about Shran since the incident with the Romulan Marauder, wondering what was happening to him. Would the Imperial Guard punish him for the loss of the Kumari? It didn’t look good at this point, but whatever had happened, at least he was safe in Phlox’s care for the moment, and his antenna had almost entirely grown back.

Did he love Shran? He didn’t know, but he’d be lying if he said definitely not.

It was nearly thirty hours before Phlox discharged him, but Archer had been busy on the bridge at the time and hadn’t been able to meet him in the mess hall for dinner, so he’d had a couple of security officers escort him to guest quarters and promised to catch up with him later.

When he was finally able to stop by, he had to pause in the hallway for a few minutes to steady himself, closing his eyes, breathing deeply before pressing on the door chime. The door slid open immediately and he stepped inside. Shran was sitting on the edge of the bed. He walked in, keeping close to the wall and away from Shran.

“What happened out there?” He asked in a soft tone, one of personal concern as much as professional curiosity. “How did you end up on that ship?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Shran said, standing up.

“Suit yourself,” he said, trying to inject a lack of interest into his voice. “I’m glad you’re back.” He hadn’t meant to admit that, but he’d said it without any sort of mental process stopping him. Too late.

“I’m glad we’re finally alone again,” Shran said, walking towards him, standing close, trapping him between his body and the wall yet not actually touching him, and Archer could barely breath.

“What are you doing?” He asked, trying to resist the temptation to close the gap.

But Shran took the matter out of his hands, letting their lips brush – only for a moment but it was electric nonetheless. “Don’t play coy with me,” his mouth twisted into a smirk, and Archer’s brain kicked into action just long enough to extract himself from the small, enchanting space, stumbling by happenstance in the direction of the bed, which in hindsight would be a bad – or good, depending on your viewpoint – move.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, his voice betraying his attempt to appear unaffected by what just happened.

“Don’t tell me you’ve _changed your mind._ ” Shran said in a disbelieving tone. “About us?”

“Us?” Archer was confused. Did Shran think something had happened between them before?”

“I get it. You’re doing what your people call ‘pulling my leg’.”

Every ounce of his senses were telling him to get out of there until they could ascertain what was going on, but Shran had closed on him again, his antennae straining forward and a glint in his eye, and placed a hand delicately on Archer’s hip, and his whole body tingled with want, and the voice in his head telling him not to go through with it was getting quieter and quieter as he let Shran push him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him and kissing him desperately, his antennae caressing Archer’s forehead.

*

After, they found their way under the quilt, neither particularly interested in separating just yet, or doing anything about their clothes thrown haphazardly onto various surfaces around the room, and lay close, their arms around each other holding tight, Archer’s nose buried in Shran’s neck.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said quietly, running his hand in little circles on Shran’s bare back.

“Why?” Shran asked.

“Why was it unexpected?” Archer chuckled, opening his eyes and tilting his head back to look at Shran. “Well, I guess it wasn’t entirely… I always thought there might be something there.”

Shran’s right antenna tilted in question, somewhat akin to a Human furrowing their brow. “Are you forgetting about last time?”

“Last time? I can assure you, I’d remember if we’d done _that_ before.”

“Clearly, you haven’t remembered,” Shran looked disappointed, almost hurt. “About the time two months ago in the cave on Zhenkaar.”

At this, Archer regained his professional head a little and he pulled himself away, propping himself up on the pillow. “I’ve heard of Zhenkaar. It’s barely populated, largely wasteland, around eighteen light years from Andoria. I’ve never been there, and I haven’t seen you since we beamed you and Jhamel back to Andoria after the Romulan incident three months ago.”

“What are you talking about? Are you telling me I dreamed it all?”

“Either that, or someone’s tampered with one of our memories,” Archer said. “You know the story up until Jhamel helping us defeat the marauder. Perhaps you better fill me in on the rest of what you remember happening.”


	2. Chapter 2

“When you lose your ship,” Shran said, “you aren't usually rewarded with another one. I may not see you for a while.” He held Archer’s gaze, and his intact antenna pointed forward, but he could trust Archer wouldn’t know what that meant in the manner in which he meant it.

“If there's anything we can do or say on your behalf,” T’Pol offered, interrupting the moment.

“I appreciate the offer.” He said, offering Archer a handshake before heading to the transporter pad. “Let's just see what the future brings. Try to stay out of trouble, pinkskin.” But there was no insult in the word, this time; he even let a mild amount of fondness enter it.

Archer nodded and T’Pol pushed the lever up on the transporter control. His last thought before he dematerialised is that he should have indulged in a pinkskin tradition and kissed Archer goodbye, and found himself resolving to do so next time they met.

“That… transporter device has a rather pleasant effect,” Jhamel noted when they materialised outside the entrance to the capital city.

“The Humans say they find it rather nauseating to begin with,” he told her. “Come on, let’s get you back to your people.”

“I like it. And I don’t want to go back there, not yet. I’ve only just begun to see what life is like outside of our caves, if it’s all the same to you I’d like to stay a while and see more.”

“Very well,” he nodded, and they headed into the tunnel that would lead to the city gates. They were met with an escort to take them to Imperial Guard headquarters.

“What’s she doing here?” One of the soldiers demanded, motioning towards Jhamel.

“She aided us in our mission.” Shran felt a little defencive; no sort of official relations had been established between the Andorians and the Aenar, so it fell to him to ensure she was treated well. “It wouldn’t have been a success without her, the least you could do is give her somewhere comfortable to wait while you conduct my debriefing.”

“We’ll speak to the General,” the soldier said, marching on ahead while his two associates took them to the compound.

They were left waiting outside the General’s office for almost an hour before he sent for Shran.

“I hear you brought a guest with you,” the General’s voice was cold. “An Aenar. Why didn’t you return to Andoria with the rest of your crew when negotiations were concluded with the Tellarites?”

“The enemy ship was still on the loose,” he explained.

“Is that so?” The General tilted an antenna back and Shran got the sense he was not being entirely believed.

“I have returned now. I’ve already transmitted my report to you.”

“And the loss of your vessel?”

“What of it?”

“It was careless of you to allow such a thing to happen. You should be relieved of duty.”

Shran lowered his head. He expected something like this might happen.

“However, given your actions since then our Command Council has decided it wants to give you a reprieve. An outpost in the Zhenkaar sector requires a tactical advisor and you’re to be sent to fill that role, following a fortnight’s suspension. Dismissed.”

He’d gotten off lucky. He bowed in respect and left without another word.

He spent the two weeks with Jhamel, giving her a whistle-stop tour of the planet, then she gave him a tour of the Aenar’s caves before he bade her farewell, leaving her and her family as he returned to the military compound for his next mission, promising to take her to visit the stars someday.

He was aboard the warship Yshala, en route to Zhenkaar territory, when they were attacked. As soon as he felt the first burst shake the ship, he headed straight for the bridge to find out what was going on, but before he reached it, their assailants fired a second time and a support beam in the corridor was dislodged, falling on his head and knocking him out.

He woke up in the medical bay, and all was quiet again.

“What happened?” He asked the nearest physician.

“A rogue Zhenkaarej ship,” she told him. “We suspect it may have been Hereg.”

“The criminal,” he hissed, sitting up. “Did she get away?”

“Unfortunately so. We’ve set a pursuit course.”

“Where are we headed now?”

“I’ve told you all I can,” the physician said. “You’ll have to ask Commander Salun if you want more details.”

“All you _know_ , or all you’re allowed to say?” He asked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the medical bed, fixing her with a glare. He didn’t like the thought of things being kept from him. It was demeaning. She gave him an apologetic look and walked away to tend to another patient. Irritated by this, he marched out of the medical centre, intent on finding the Commander and demanding answers.

“Our mission was always to capture Hereg,” Salun explained when he found him. “Evidently, someone warned her that were after her.” He had a pointed tone that made Shran wonder if he were being accused. Surely not.

“Indeed,” Shran inclined his head. “It’s about time we brought her to justice.”

“You’re being assigned the task. It’s your responsibility.”

“Very well. I’ll need to study all the intelligence you may have.”

“It’s being transferred to the computer terminal in your quarters as we speak.”

*

This had started five years prior, when Hereg had attacked the first Andorian colony near the Zhenkaarej border. Since then she had been carrying out raids on many Andorian colonies, getting closer and closer to their homeworld until a year and a half ago when she’d raided the moon itself before dropping off the grid.

The Zhenkaarej government had done very little to stop her. Their population was minimal, as was their technological advancement, and the Andorians weren’t even sure if they were capable of stopping her. She’d taken her ship from visitors to their planet, killing half the crew and telepathically subduing the other half, turning them into slaves for her and her followers.

A month ago, she was rumoured to have resurfaced, and the Yshala had been assigned to track her down.

He hadn’t expected to be included in this mission. As a disgraced Commander who had avoided being expelled from the Guard by the skin of his teeth, trusting him with the capture of Hereg seemed like a big risk to take, and he wasn’t sure why the Command Council had decided it was a good idea. Nevertheless, he would do his duty, and he would not fail.

As he was reading the reports, he felt the ship drop out of warp, and he was commed by Salun, who instructed him to report to the shuttle bay.

“We cannot take the Yshala into Zhenkaarej space,” Salun, flanked by two Lieutenants, told him when he arrived. “We’ve equipped Yshala-Pod Alpha with a cloaking device salvaged from the wreckage of a Klingon ship. You’ll take it into the Zhenkaar system and locate Hereg. Krol and Temar will go with you.”

Something about this entire mission smelled off to Shran. He got this vague sense of things being laid out on a plate for him, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint that that was what it was that bothered him. He could definitely identify the sense that he was being tested, but that was expected and entirely fair. Still, he was incredibly cautious, and wondered if this was a trap. It didn’t seem right, only three people going after someone like Hereg, with such a long criminal record. They should be mounting an all-out assault, not some sort of sneak attack like it seemed was expected of him.

“Yes, sir,” he said. No matter how much he might doubt what he was being asked to do, he had little choice but to go along with it, comply at least until he had something better to go on than an uneasy feeling.

The warp trail ended at Zhenkaar III, where they landed the pod in the eastern deserts. There was a prison facility near the landing site, and according to intel one of her associates, someone named Groth, had recently been arrested by Zhenkaarej authorities. She would likely want to either neutralise or free Groth, so the prison seemed like a good place to start.

“There’s a tunnel at the northern perimeter,” Temar said. “That’s probably the easiest way to get in unnoticed.”

“Agreed.” Shran nodded, and the three officers headed in that direction, hidden from the prison guards by a crumbling rock-face. The tunnel’s entrance was a good two kilometres from the facility’s main atrium and had fallen into disuse many years ago, so the risk of being detected when they set off the explosives to break the wall down was negligible. They got in with no trouble at all.

Nor was it any trouble approaching several guards from behind, rendering them unconscious and taking their cloaks and guns before making their way to the operations centre on the third level, from where the entire compound’s security footage was monitored.

If it was all too easy, Shran put it down to lax enforcement of protocol on the part of the Zhenkaarej.

There were two doors leading to the operations centre. One of them, the way they had come in, followed a direct route down to the atrium. The other hadn’t been used in a long while, not since the days of the civil war on Zhenkaar, when a secret passage out of the compound had been built as a contingency, in case the guards were unable to contain a convict uprising and had to retreat and seek reinforcements, as this had been in the days before telecommunication was possible. If Hereg was indeed here, it was one of the most likely routes she would take to escape, so Shran ordered Krol to remain there, while he and Temar went to search for her.

He found Groth lying sprawled out on the floor of his cell, his breath rugged and a nasty looking wound having torn a hole through his chest. So she’d chosen to eliminate him.

“Where did she go?” he demanded, kneeling over the dying man. “Tell me!”

Groth opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he lifted his arm slightly in an attempt to gesture towards the ceiling, but before Shran can look up to see what he’s pointing to, a figure fell on him and pushed him over, arms around his neck, choking him, before dashing off, leaving him temporarily winded and therefore at a disadvantage.

As soon as he caught his breath, he got to his feet and set off in pursuit. He met Temar in the corridor, who indicated the direction in which she saw Hereg running, that she was headed for the operations centre. They got there in time to witness Krol put up a good fight, but it was too late for their comrade, who fell to the floor as Hereg forced open the door to the passage.

He was about to follow her when something caught his eye, an image on one of the monitor screens, that distracted him only for a few seconds, but long enough for her to get into the passage as the door began to swing shut behind her. Scowling, he took the phase weapon from his belt and fired; the beam hit her on the leg, but didn’t stop her, and the door slammed as she limped away. He just hoped that Commander Salun had been telling the truth about the sub-dermal tracker that the beam had supposedly been modified to transfer to the weapon’s victim.

“Go after her,” he commanded of Temar.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“I have something I must deal with. Obey my order.”

She looked like she might protest, but bit her tongue, and headed towards the door. He turned back to the monitor screen and glowered at it.

Chained to the wall of one of the cells, was Jonathan Archer.


	3. Chapter 3

“We found him wandering in the corridor,” the guard said, pushing Shran roughly into a chair at the interrogation table. His superior had his back to them, and when he turned around, the colour drained from his face.

“You fool, Quedas!” He growled. “Don’t you recognise his species?”

Quedas lowered his gaze, shaking his head in a cowardly attempt at apology.

“Untie him at once!” the superior ordered. “He is Andorian. We promised them our full co-operation in capturing the fugitive.”

Shran scoffed. The Zhenkaarej had done very little in the way of co-operation, not counting total submission and a failure to put up a fight against either the Imperial Guard or Hereg’s crew. Quedas did as he was told, and Shran felt his arms freed, pulling them in front of him angrily.

“I apologise for my subordinate’s stupidity,” the officer said, before coming to stand close to Shran and squinting at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to interrogate one of your prisoners,” Shran lied. “A man known to have had dealings with Hereg in the past.”

“It is not our procedure to allow off-worlders to interrogate our prisoners,” Quedas protested.

“But we will make an exception in this case,” his superior covered for him. “Who is it you wish to question?”

“The pinkskin.” Shran told him.

“They really are an odd colour, aren’t they?” the man scoffed. “Very well. Bring him here.”

Quedas bowed and left the room.

“Any information you could give us on their species would be helpful.”

“They call themselves Humans. They’re allies of the _Vulcans_.” He spat the word. It was imperative to his plan that the Zhenkaarej gained no knowledge of the fact Shran considered, if not Humans then at least Enterprise, his ally. Mentioning the Vulcans would surely keep them off the scent.

“They are dishonourable indeed, then,” the man agreed. Shran wasn’t sure what the Zhenkaarej’s true stance on the Vulcans was, but they officially maintained that Andoria was their ally and so Vulcan was their enemy.

They sat in silence until Archer was pushed into the room, his hands cuffed behind his back and his face bruised. Their eyes met, and his gaze was colder than Shran was pleased about, but he said nothing.

“Leave us,” Shran said, and the guards obliged. He and Archer stood facing each other off until they were alone. “I thought I told you to try and stay out of trouble, and here I find you’ve gotten yourself thrown in jail.”

“Shran,” he hissed. “You’re working with them?”

“Actually, I’m rescuing you.” He allowed his tone to be soft, fond, and tilted his head. “And I _believe,_ that puts you in my debt.”

“You’re doing this to gain a favour?”

Shran laughed. “That’s just an added bonus. Now listen to me…”

*

They had made it to the surface relatively unopposed, and hid behind a stone wall while Shran untied Archer, his fingers brushing Archer’s wrists in the process and he tried to ignore the way it made his insides flutter.

“I need you to come with me while I complete my mission here, then I will get you back to your ship.” He dug in the pocket of his uniform for the data pad which contained the transponder signal and any hope of finding Hereg.

“I’ll do it, but you’re going to need to tell me something about said mission.”

“Capture a fugitive.” He studied the screen as a flashing red dot appeared. It had worked. He pointed ahead of them. “She went that way.”

“Is that all you’re telling me?” Archer asked, and he sounded a little irritated.

“You can wait by my ship, if you’d like.” Shran retorted.

“And let you have all the fun? No way.”

They fell into step as they began to make their way across the desert, following the trail laid out by Shran’s data pad. It was a comfortable silence, but Shran found himself wanting to talk anyway, just to hear Archer’s voice. He held himself back though, now was the time to be focusing on the mission, not the way Archer’s skin flushed and glistened in a physiological attempt to combat the heat, or the way his toned muscles moved under his shirt, or the way he seemed to be glancing in Shran’s direction every so often like he had something important to say; no, now was the time to focus on retrieving Hereg and later was the time to deal with what he thought floated thickly between them.

“I don’t suppose you brought water?” Archer eventually asked, and Shran removed a flask from his jacket, taking a long gulp of the cool liquid before handing it wordlessly to his companion.

It was another several long minutes before the trail stopped dead at the entrance to a cave. Apparently, the tracker did not work in there, but it seemed unlikely she could have left, or the transponder would have reactivated.

“She’s in there somewhere,” he said. They got just inside the entrance of the cave and collapsed in the shade. If Archer was finding it hot here, imagine how much Shran was suffering!

“We’ll rest for a moment before continuing.” Archer said.

“Whose mission is this?” Shran inquired rhetorically, but the corner of his mouth curled upwards. Archer smiled back, and he was unable to stop his antennae straining forward, desperate to make contact with that odd alien skin.

*

After several hours of walking through cave tunnels, they were beginning to lose the light as they got further from the entrance and the day outside began to dwindle.

“Temar should be ahead of us somewhere, assuming she’s still alive.” Shran informed.

“Could she have captured your prisoner already?” Archer asked.

Shran shook his head. “She’d have made contact.”

*

A further two hours later, it was obvious that Archer was becoming tired, and when they reached a fork in the tunnel, Shran decided they should get some rest here, and split up in whatever constituted the morning on this planet.

*

It was hot here during the day, but at nights the temperature dropped below comfortable standards for a Human, and when Shran shuffled up to Archer’s back and lay flush against him, he told himself it was for no reason other than to share some of his body heat with the shivering man.

*

When he woke up they were face to face. Apparently Archer had managed to roll onto his other side in his sleep, getting their legs tangled in the process. His breathing was still slow, his eyes closed; trusting he was still asleep, Shran allowed himself to relish in the proximity and pay attention to the details of Archer’s truly beautiful face. When Archer opened his eyes, Shran felt a wave of emotion more intense than he could have ever imagined.

He half expected Archer to jolt back, to immediately move to get away, but he lay completely still, daring Shran to make the next move. He should have at least tried to escape, insisted they continued with the mission immediately, but he was transfixed and frankly, he didn’t _want_ to.

It ended up being Archer who brought a hand up and caressed his face, who cupped the back of his neck and it ended up being Archer who closed the gap between them.

*

It was another seven hours of walking before Shran found Hereg sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall of the cave, her leg wound where he had shot her had become infected and swollen, evidently incapacitating her somewhat. She glowered at him when he approached.

“ _Get_ up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re now in the custody of the Andorian Imperial Guard and will be for a _long_ time.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, locking her hands behind her back with the cuffs he’d brought. “You can either walk back to my ship, or I can knock you unconscious and carry you.”

She glared at him for a long time before yanking her arm away and walking back towards the cave entrance, dragging her injured leg. “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed.

“I’d like to see you try,” he sneered, before taking out his communicator. “Shran to Temar.”

It was a moment before the line crackled open and he heard the lieutenant’s voice:

“Temar here. I thought you might have been captured yourself.” She laughed haughtily, the tone obviously meant to disparage him. “Then I found the pinkskin wandering around, he told me you _freed_ him.”

“I have Hereg,” he said, ignoring her jibes. “Return to the mouth of the cave with Archer, we’ll rendezvous there.”

*

Three weeks later, the Yshala returned to Andoria, and Hereg was delivered to the Prison complex on the southern peninsula. Shran was summoned to Guard headquarters, where he was told the General wished to see him.

“Your reprieve is up.” The General told him. “The Command Council has reached a verdict.”

“I am to be given a new assignment?”

“No.”

“ _What?”_ Shran struggled to keep the anger out of his voice. “I apprehended _Hereg_ , I passed your test.”

“The council’s decision is final,” the General said, the word ‘commander’ lingered, but didn’t make it onto the end of his sentence. “You have served us well in the past, But the Kumari was too valuable.”

“So why send me off to Zhenkaar?” he tried, but the General simply stood up straight, signifying the conversation was over.

“You’re dismissed, Shran.”

He was still reeling from the conversation his entire walk back home. He didn’t understand this. He’d helped defeat _Romulans_ , an enemy everyone in the Guard had heard of but very few of whom had encountered, aided the formation of an alliance with _Vulcan_ _and Tellar_ , and captured a dangerous and long-wanted criminal almost single-handedly, and now he was _dismissed_ from the Guard, just like that? He hadn’t expected to get a new ship to command so soon after the Kumari had been destroyed, but he had expected better than _this._

When he got home he thought about cooking, or reading, or doing anything to take his mind off his predicament, but instead he ended up lying on the rug on the floor, brooding. Not a position he’d be proud to be caught in, but nobody was likely to come by.

Andorians had comrades, but Shran had just lost all of his; and they had family, but Shran’s family lived far away; they didn’t really have friends: that was an alien concept, one which he’d slightly come to embrace for lack of a better term to describe his relationship with Archer when they had gone beyond allies but hadn’t quite reached anything else yet. They were more than friends now, but Archer was farther away than his parents. Perhaps he would define Jhamel as a friend. He thought about contacting her, but he didn’t want her to see him in this disgrace, so instead opted to remain alone.

He fell into something of a depressive cycle after that, eating only enough to sustain himself and sleeping most of the time, leaving the house sometimes for a brisk walk, but not enough to keep track of the days. He needed to make a plan to salvage his life eventually, but it seemed like too big of a task to face at that moment, so he didn’t face it… until there was a knock on his door.

“May I come in?” Jhamel stood in the doorway.

For a moment he was too surprised to speak, then he stepped back and gestured her inside. “What are you doing here? I thought you planned to remain with your family?”

“I got bored,” she told him, shrugging off her jacket. “I was visiting a rural settlement, where my ancestors supposedly originated. On my way home I passed through the city, and I heard the news of what happened. I’m sorry.”

“The glorious spectacle of Thy’lek Shran!” he spread his arms wide and laughed bitterly.

“It is not that widely spoken of,” she said. “You ought to know.”

“I haven’t been out.”

“In a month?” She sounded surprised, and the words took far too long to process.

“A _month_? Is that how long it’s been?”

“Almost.” She said, heading into the kitchen and sitting down, and he realised he had forgotten his manners.

“Can I get you anything to eat?” he offered.

“No,” she inclined her head in thanks, “but an ale would be nice.”

He complied with her request, pouring himself a glass as well.

“Thank you. What are you doing still here?”

“The Imperial Guard has been everything I am. I don’t have anywhere to go."

“You have given them more than three decades of service, what about what doing what you want now?”

“I want to continue to serve my people,” he said, “there are no ships that will allow me to do that.”

“There is one,” she said slowly. “And you can gain more there than simply your military pride.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Enterprise.”

“That isn’t an Andorian vessel.”

“No, but you’ve said before the Andorians and Humans have goals that they share, and there you can be with Archer.”

Her words resonated with him, and he recoiled from that. He should be finding a way to redeem himself, not running away. But she was right. Archer would probably welcome him with open arms, arms that he so strongly desired to be held in…

“I’ve touched both your mind and his, Shran,” she said. “Think about what I’ve said.”

She stayed with him that evening for dinner, and once she’d left he spent many long hours contemplating all the possibilities. The next day, he packed up as much as he could carry and headed for the space port.

*

“This had better be quick,” the gruff, guttural voice huffed.

“I need passage,” Shran told the trader. “How is your daughter, by the way?”

The man growled, and landed a blow to Shran’s side, followed immediately by one to his face. “Do not blackmail me.”

“I am simply reminding you that you owe me. If I had not rescued her from those Nausicaans…”

“Very well,” the man hissed. “But we have a conference to negotiate a trade deal with the Orions in eight days and we don’t intend to miss it.”

“The sooner you get me to where I want to go, the less likely that is to happen,” Shran handed over a storage chip containing scans he’d once taken of Enterprise. “I’m looking for this ship.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's mushy. i'm sorry it took so long to write, life has been getting in the way

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Archer said softly when Shran had finished recounting his tale. He still had questions, but now didn’t seem like the right time to ask them.

“I don’t need pity,” Shran said sadly, his antennae drooping, and Archer shuffled back down the bed, kissing the base of one of them gently.

“Then good job I’m not offering it, merely expressing my condolences.”

“You really don’t recall any of that happening?” Shran asked, his antennae pointing towards each other in confusion.

“I really don’t, but I’m going to launch an investigation. I’m going to call a meeting with my staff. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell them about the… _personal_ side of things.”

He was about to get up, when Shran grabbed his arm

“Wait. I have to know something,” Shran said.

“What is it?”

“When I… initiated our intimacy this afternoon, I did so under the false impression that we had already established a relationship. I need to know where you stand.”

He studied Shran’s face, trying to decide how to respond. He’d never seen the other man looking so vulnerable, so _scared_ , and it melted his heart. He leaned over, letting their faces hover only centimetres apart for a moment before kissing him tenderly for a brief moment.

“I hope that answers your question,” he said, not moving further away than the reach of the antenna caressing his face. “I wanted this.”

Shran “I _gathered_ that you wanted _this._ But do you want there to be _us_?”

Archer felt a little put on the spot, not that he didn’t know the answer but it was unexpected being asked the question so directly and so… well, it seemed sudden. But he probably would have said yes if he’d been asked over lunch, and he sure as hell knew that he didn’t want to turn away now.

“Very much so.” He found a smile spreading itself across his face.

Shran’s eyes closed and opened in acknowledgement and perhaps relief. “I want this too, Archer,” he said.

“Glad we agree,” Archer smiled, then let out a puff of air in amusement. “I can’t believe we’re lying naked in bed together, having just agreed to go out, and you just called me Archer.”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t call you that? It is your name after all.”

“Yeah but it’s my surname. Humans consider that a more formal form of address – don’t Andorians?”

“No. both my names are considered to be of equal standing. You may call me Shran or you may call me Thy’lek. What’s that expression of yours, ‘anything goes’?”

“Thy’lek,” Archer grinned as he said the word. He utterly botched the pronunciation, but Shran decided he liked the way it sounded anyway. He got the feeling he was going to hear a lot more of it in the foreseeable future, since Archer seemed to prefer it as far as their association went. “I guess you’ve realised I’d like it if you called me Jonathan, now.”

“Jonathan,” Shran nodded.

Somewhere in the room, Archer’s communicator beeped, and he groaned.

“I’m technically still on duty,” he said. “And I’ve been lounging around here.”

Shran smirked. “Call it cementing diplomatic relations.”

He scanned the room for his blue coverall, which he found lying on the floor next to Shran’s side of the bed, and leaned across his partner – deliberately maximising body contact – and reached down, dragging it onto the bed and fishing the communicator out of the pocket. He’d rather have whatever conversation was coming fully dressed, but he didn’t want to delay answering the call in case someone came looking for him.

He flipped it open. “Archer here.”

“Captain,” T’pol’s voice emerged. “Sensors have detected an interesting stellar phenomenon you may wish to investigate.”

“Make a note of the co-ordinates and we can come back. Assemble the senior staff, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve just been talking to Shran and he told me something rather disturbing. I’ll fill you all in when I get up there.”

“Noted. T’Pol out.”

“ _Talking_ ,” Shran said when he closed the communicator.

“Well we were.” Archer said, getting out of the bed. “ For part of the time. I’d better go. You can come along or you can stay here if you want.”

“I’ll remain, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He could feel Shran’s eyes on him as he gathered his clothes and got dressed.

*

“He insists it happened, yet I don’t remember any of it,” Archer concluded, having just given his crew the upshot of Shran’s story up until the Yshala rendezvousing with Enterprise.

“I don’t remember that either,” Travis said, and there was a round of agreement.

“Shran could be lying.” T’Pol suggested.

“Why would he?” Archer asked, and he could tell he was about to get told off. “I trust him.”

“Last time you insisted on trusting him, he ended up betraying us and trying to take the Xindi weapon back to Andoria,” she reminded him.

He thought of the utterly forlorn look that had taken over Shran’s face when he’d done that, and thought of Shran lying beside him today, sadly recounting the tale of being dismissed from the Imperial Guard.

“I don’t believe he has anything up his sleeve this time,” he said emphatically. “However, this affects us too, if someone has indeed tampered with our memories, we ought to find out about it.” 

“Agreed,” Malcolm said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I think we should start at this prison, see if they have any recollection of these events, and get the hell away if they try to arrest you.”

“I thought so, too. Travis, set a course.”

“Aye sir.”

They all dispersed, and Archer headed for his ready room, Trip close on his heel.

“Can I do something for you?” he asked when the two men were settled in their seats on opposite sides of the desk.

“Just answer a question,” Trip was grinning, and Archer had a bad feeling. “A personal one.”

“Yeah?”

“Who is it?”

“Who is what?” he asked innocently.

“We’ve been best friends for years, Jon, I know you and I know that look I haven’t seen on you since you got together with Cap’n Hernandez back when you two were both Commanders. You’re glowing.”

Archer couldn’t help the smitten smile and it earned an “ah-ha!” from Trip.

“Fine, but you’ll keep it to yourself, at least for now?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Trip imitated the words with the motion.

“Shran and I.”

“I thought so,” Trip grinned. “Didn’t wanna ask. Take it this is a new development?”

“Yes, but I reckon it’s been a long time coming.”

“I always wondered when it would happen,” Trip said. Archer opened his mouth to say something but Trip continued before he could. “I’ve seen the way you two always looked at each other. I’m excited for ya.”

“Glad I have your approval.”

“Of course.”

*

He spent the day buried in a backlog of paperwork, which he got through slowly – it might have gone quicker if his mind hadn’t been so occupied with a certain someone – and when nineteen hundred hours rolled around he couldn’t switch off his PADDs quick enough.

He told Trip and T’Pol he’d be having dinner with Shran, since he hadn’t had the opportunity to do so when their guest had arrived – T’Pol merely inclined her head and said she had some work she could be doing, and Trip clapped him on the shoulder with a huge grin and told him to have fun – and headed down to the mess hall with a spring in his step that he tried, but probably failed, to hide.

Shran greeted him with a formal “ _Captain_ ,” when they met outside, but as soon as they were inside his private mess he was bundled up in blue arms and kissed soundly.

“Mmm, you miss me?” he asked with a happy sigh when he was released. “I missed you.”

“Of course. An entire five hours apart, how did we cope?”

“I don’t know.” He kept a hold of Shran’s hand, even when they reached the table, and Shran sat at the side of the table, rather than opposite Archer like he usually did.

“How did your meeting go?” Shran asked. “Do they believe you?”

“I don’t know, but they’re certainly concerned. We’re headed for Zhenkaar.”

Shran flinched. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t worry, they won’t get anywhere near me with Malcolm and his team on alert.” He squeezed his hand. “I don’t plan on getting put in prison.”

“I’ll have to thank lieutenant Reed personally if it comes to that,” Shran said, and he looked so tired, Archer just wanted to hug him and stroke his hair – he wondered how Shran would react to the latter action – but a steward came in with their food, and he withdrew his hand.

“What is it?” Shran asked.

“It’s called pizza.”

“Pyek-soh?” Shran tried, and Archer laughed.

“Pizza, try it.”

“There’s no cutlery.”

“You don’t need any,” Archer said, tearing a slice of his own off in demonstration and watched as Shran gingerly did the same and took a bite.

“What do you think?”

“An usual flavour and texture… I like it.”

“I thought you might. It’s somewhat similar to a dish you tried before, bruschetta; just this has a lot more cheese.”

“Is this a favourite of yours?”

“Not particularly, but it’s one of the dishes most widely considered to be comfort food on Earth. I thought you could do with something like that just now.”

“Comfort food?”

“Food that makes you feel better when you’re not too great. I realise this concept may not translate.”

“I appreciate the gesture nevertheless.” Shran dropped his hand on the table and bowed his head, and Archer wondered if he was going to cry. Did Andorians cry?

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, reaching out and touching Shran’s arm. He realised that was an easy thing for him to say, given he was the one still aboard his own ship surrounded by all his friends, and Shran was the one alone here, depending on his charity, but it pained him so much to see Shran hurting and he didn’t know what he could do. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, we’ll find out what happened, and if I have to I’ll go to the Command Council myself and try to convince them to see their mistake in throwing you away.”

“They might not take too kindly to that,” Shran said. “They’re beginning to see the benefits of having Earth as an ally, but if you try to interfere in internal affairs… I’m sorry, I’m not very hungry.”

“It can be re-sequenced,” Archer told him. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

“I was hoping you’d stay.”

The thought made Archer a little nervous, he admitted to himself. He hadn’t shared a sleeping space with someone for years, not counting away missions with limited room or blankets, Porthos sleeping on his bed, or that one time he and Trip got so drunk playing a water polo drinking game that he’d collapsed before he was able to walk back to his own quarters and ended up crashing on Trip’s bed with him, but he and Trip were just friends, and all of those things were very different than sharing with someone you’re romantic with.

Under other circumstances he would have said no, said he wanted to take things more slowly – the fact they’d had sex earlier that day notwithstanding, he’d surprised himself with that one – but he didn’t know what Shran might be capable of if he was left alone for too long in his current emotional state, and the thought of finding out was at least a thousand times more terrifying than sleeping beside him.

“If you don’t mind taking a quick detour by _my_ quarters so I can pick up a few things, then I would be happy to.”

*

Shran went through the bathroom first – Archer insisted – and had already got himself under the quilt when Archer emerged into the bedroom in his pyjamas, and his feet froze on the carpet for a moment, the butterflies in his stomach doing somersaults.

“Do Humans sleep standing up?” Shran joked, and he managed to get the rest of the way to the bed.

“It’s just been a while,” he admitted as he climbed into the space between the mattress and quilt, shuffling as close to Shran as he could get. “I’m pleased that you’re the one with whom I get to get used to it again.”

“I’m glad I came,” he looked down to where their legs were crossed over to allow their torsos closer. “this is how we were when we woke up in that cave.”

“When I kissed you for the first time, at least as far as you’re concerned.” As if to demonstrate, he pressed a quick, dry kiss to Shran’s lips.

“And a whole lot more, or so I recall.”

“I hope I haven’t had memories of such an occurrence stolen from me.”

“I hope I’m not imagining or dreaming this now.”

“Goodnight, Thy’lek.”

“Goodnight, Jonathan.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to post, life is getting in the way a lot the last few months
> 
> also first mention of trip/malcolm in this chapter yay! only brief though

When he woke up he was alone in bed and for a moment he forgot where he was and how drastically his life had changed recently, until the sound of running water brought him back to reality and the scent Jonathan had left on the sheets and pillow bombarded his antennae.

With no reason to get out of bed, he turned over and continued to lie there, listening to the water, imagining each droplet’s path out of the shower head, around Jonathan’s body to the floor and down the drain. It was strange, he thought, how they all washed in water just like Andorians did. When he was a child, he’d always imagined aliens all bathed in some viscous orangey-coloured liquid of his mind’s own conception… to his surprise, he’d actually encountered something like it on Enterprise, in the mess hall; ensign Mayweather had called it honey.

“Morning,” a voice called him from his thoughts, and he turned over to see Jonathan dressed in a fresh uniform, wet hair sticking to his forehead. He sat on his vacated side of the bed, a hand reaching Shran’s side. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Morning,” he said, realising again that he had no idea what he was going to do, not today nor tomorrow nor next month or year. He had no duties. Nothing to occupy his time but wait for Jonathan to get off his shift. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t live like that.

“I need to go feed Porthos, but I’ll be on the bridge in half an hour. I’d like you to be there. We’ll need your help with this mission.” Jonathan said, partially adopting his command voice.

This mission.

What then?

“I’ll be there,” Shran assured him.

“Good.” Jonathan leaned over and kissed him, and then he was gone and Shran was again alone with his thoughts and fears.

*

This mission.

What then?

He pondered the thought as he walked back to his quarters. He couldn’t expect Thy’lek to stay on Enterprise and not do anything. Even if he was never getting back into the Imperial Guard, perhaps he’d still have to accept Thy’lek had to build a life elsewhere other than Enterprise, where he could be useful.

He realised there was at least a level of bias there, but if it were up to him, Thy’lek would already have a Starfleet posting, serving aboard Enterprise, but it wasn’t up to him.

Porthos barked as soon as he opened the door, and he opened the cupboard where he kept his food, pouring some biscuits into his bowl and kneeled down, scratching the dog’s ears as he ate.

“Were you alright last night?” he asked, but Porthos was too busy enjoying his breakfast to respond in any fashion. He sank onto the floor, leaning against his bed. “Sorry I was gone. What am I going to do, eh Porthos? What am I going to do?” Porthos walked over and curled up on his lap.

He planned to contact Starfleet and try to persuade them of the benefits of having Thy’lek aboard in some capacity. If Max were still around, he was certain he’d have at least chance of succeeding, but his old friend was gone and Admiral Gardner was, well… he really didn’t know which card was best to play with Gardner.

He wondered how long he could get away with it if he granted Thy’lek a commission right there on the spot. T’Pol would definitely object.

Whatever happened, he knew the risk that there could be consequences if he advocated for granting him a commission and then their relationship became known. It was risk he was willing to take.

God, when had he gotten himself so tangled up in this mess? And what were those knots in his gut that felt suspiciously like he was falling in love?

*

“Sir, we’re approaching Zhenkaar III.” Travis informed.

“Assume orbit,” Archer said. “Hoshi, hail them when we’re in range.”

She glanced over at the captain, watched as he stepped down into the centre of the bridge beside Shran, and for a moment their eyes met, and love and apprehension flowed between the two of them; only for a moment but Hoshi didn’t miss it. She quickly turned back to her console, not wanting to draw anyone else’s attention, but she did wonder: had they told each other?

“They’re hailing us,” she said.

Archer and Shran turned to make their way to the back of the bridge, hidden from view of whoever would appear on the screen. T’Pol followed – Shran had advised them that the Zhenkaarej don’t take too kindly to Vulcans – and Malcolm took the chair.

Malcolm nodded at Hoshi and she opened the channel; a man with purple skin and yellowish hair appeared on the view screen.

“I’m Gamma-Director Quedas-Pa of the Gqoff Detainment Centre, how can I help you?” the man asked

“Lieutenant Reed, of the Earth Vessel Enterprise. I’m looking for a fugitive from my planet.”

“I’ve never heard of Earth, Reed-Ki. Why would we be holding a member of your species?”

Hoshi saw Archer and Shran exchange a concerned glance.

“We have reason to believe you caught him attempting to steal equipment from one of your storage depots,” Malcolm continued, repeating the story Shran had told them. “He told you his name was Michael Henderson.”

“I do not believe so, Reed-Ki, but you may transmit his likeness to us. I’ll have my subordinate check the files.”

Hoshi sent Quedas an image they’d taken of the Captain in civilian clothing, in front of one of the white walls in sickbay. Her excellent hearing picked up Shran quietly saying that the room behind Quedas looked exactly like the operations centre he’d been in.

Quedas examined his computer screen for a while, then looked back at his viewer. “I oversee the processing of all new prisoners to this facility, and I’m afraid I’ve never seen this person in my entire life. I’m sorry, your intelligence must be incorrect.”

“Indeed,” Malcolm said, and Hoshi could tell he was itching to turn around and glare in the direction of said intelligence. “Thank you for your time.”

“One who does not give their time to aid is one without honour,” Quedas made a motion with his head and arms – a bow or farewell of some sort – before cutting the channel.

“Well that’s a relief,” Malcolm sighed, and returned to the security station as Archer, T’Pol and Shran emerged from the back.

“In what way?” Travis asked “this still doesn’t solve our mystery.”

“If the Zhenkaarej don’t recall these events either, it looks less likely that they happened.” The accusation was subtle, buried deep in the comfort that his team had not slipped up so badly, but it was enough that the Captain straightened up, stiffened slightly, his posture taking on an ever so slight note of defenciveness.

“It isn’t evidence though.” Archer deadpanned.

“Of course not, merely a little hope.”

Hoshi could tell from Archer’s body language he did not agree.

“Captain, there’s a ship approaching, they’re charging weapons.” T’Pol interrupted.

“Polarise the hull plating.”

“Already on it,” Malcolm said as a blast shook the ship.

“Can we get an image?” Archer asked. “Or a sensor scan, anything to give us an idea of what we’re up against?”

“Negative!” T’pol called as another blast rocked the ship and sparks flew out of several consoles.

“They’re determined, whoever they are,” Travis remarked.

“I have something. It’s only faint,” T’pol said. “Lieutenant, you should be able to target their aft plating.”

“Understood,” Malcolm’s hands flew across the console.

“Direct hit, they’re weakened”

“They’re hailing,” Hoshi announced.

“On screen.”

A distorted image appeared of the other ship’s bridge, manned by humanoids whose skin appeared to be purple. “I am Hereg, I claim your vessel and you will prepare to surrender”

A number of horrified gasps resounded around the bridge, and Shran looked positively aghast, gripping the side of the captain’s chair for balance.

“Cut the channel,” Archer ordered and the screen went blank. “Aft plating, Malcolm.”

“Affirmative.” He fired again, and the next moment T’pol informed everyone the other ship had gone to warp and any possible trail had been lost to a scattering field.

Stunned silence filled the bridge, the tension palpable as all eyes turned to Shran.

“I… have no explanation.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper, the pain clear in his eyes and Jonathan just wanted to make everyone else disappear and hold Thy’lek tight and promise him it would be okay.

“The game’s up, Shran,” Malcolm muttered, but not quietly enough.

“Malcolm, ready room!” Jonathan ordered, and the two men marched silently in there. “Why are you so determined on proving Shran a liar?” he demanded.

Malcolm’s jaw clenched. “Permission to speak freely sir?”

Jonathan waved his hand acquiescence.

“You seem determined to believe him no matter what.”

And so it begins, the endless parade of people who would question his every move around Thy’lek. He rounded his desk and dropped down into his chair in a manner he hoped didn’t come across as petulant.

“You’re dismissed, lieutenant, and could you ask Trip if I could borrow him for a moment.”

Malcolm left without a protest – though Jonathan could tell he sure had several – and seconds later Trip walked in.

“Cap’n?” he said in an inquiring tone.

“Is Malcolm right? Am I being biased?”

“Malky accused you of _bias_?” Trip was astounded. “I wouldn’t have thought he would have noticed your feelings for Shran. What could you be biased about otherwise?”

“Not in so many words, he said I seemed determined to believe his story no matter what. I think Malcolm believes Hereg’s attack just there to be conclusive proof… what is it?” he asked in response to Trip’s uncomfortable expression.

“Well, it’d be a lie to say you weren’t biased even slightly, but I know I’d be biased if someone accused Malky of being a traitor, and besides he’s too quick to see the worst in people.”

“Are you referring to…” Jonathan trailed off.

“When I came back from the Columbia to find him in the brig? Yeah, I guess I was a little sceptical, but then again you were in command at the time and I’ve known you a long time so I believed it wasn’t a completely unfounded accusation. See, there’s another bias.”

“There seems to be a lot of bias going around.” Jonathan remarked with a dry laugh.

“No-one’d expect any less from a tight-knit crew of the first Humans out this far, having been through some of the things we’ve been through together over the last four years.”

“But Shran’s not a part of this crew.”

“But you’d like him to be.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s lost everything. He has me, but one person isn’t enough to sustain anyone, and he can’t exactly just sit around all day with no duties to attend to. If he can’t work here, I might lose him just when I thought we could finally have something.”

Trip smiled a little sadly and placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Jonathan sighed heavily and leaned against his friend. “I think I do.” he admitted.

They were about to head back out onto the bridge when the door chime rung and T’Pol stepped into the room.

“Captain, I must speak with you.”

“Go ahead,” he said. She looked at Trip, but he shook his head. Trip could stay.

“Very well. I believe you may have a conflict of interest in this situation.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, not liking where he thought this might be going.

“You are aware Vulcans have a superior sense of smell compared to Humans. When you returned to the bridge after _talking_ to Shran, I noticed – ”

“Okay, enough.” He cut her off. He could see Trip stifling laughter, and couldn’t blame him; if he didn’t feel so much like crying he would have laughed as well. “Look,” he said with air of finality. “Yes, Shran could be up to something, and yes, I am giving him the benefit of the doubt. But listen, at the moment his life has been turned upside down and if I have anything in my power to help even slightly, I’m going to do it. Who wouldn’t do that for the person they love?”

And with that, he left the ready room, his confidence somewhat returned, and ordered Travis to set a course for Andoria at warp four.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it! please tell me what you think


End file.
